


Bleeding Memories

by snoaz



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Red & Green & Blue & Yellow | Pokemon Red Green Blue Yellow Versions
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoaz/pseuds/snoaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He needs to run, and Red needs to chase after him; that's how things are supposed to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleeding Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I find Green and Red's relationship to be quite fascinating and hope this piece does it somewhat justice. Beware for drama and angst, because that is exactly what their relationship spells to me, unfortunately!

They are seventeen now, and they’ve gone their separate ways. Sometimes (often) Green thinks of the black-haired boy, training in solitude at Mt. Silver for goals already achieved. He isn’t one for sentiment, but to think that he now is nothing but Red‘s ex - ex-friend, ex-rival, ex something - is almost enough to fill his mouth with an unfamiliar bitterness. He needs to run, and Red needs to chase after him; that’s how things are supposed to be. Now there’s just nothingness and that is wrong in so many ways Green can’t even place his finger on it.

(Red is more than nothingness. Red is everything but nothingness.)

 

 

His new life consists of training and defeating challengers - making sure to hold up the name of the Viridian Gym; of the Oak family; of himself. He’s got plenty of admirers and followers, trying to be just like him, fight like him, be with him. It’s flattering, and it’s justice, because he was always supposed to be great. He was always supposed to be the best.

The girls that flock around him are ridiculously easy to get round, falling for his easy charm and confident smirk by the literal dozen. And why wouldn’t they? He’s got everything one could ever wish for. It doesn’t occur to them that he only regards them as a pleasant pastime, as a means to fight his (loneliness) boredom. Or perhaps they do, and they simply don’t care.

For Green it‘s all the same.

The praise and flattery, though, are balm on the never-healing wound of having lost, against him, against Red - who’s still better and greater and grander. Mt. Silver is sufficiently far away to be merely a wavering ghost in his memory, haunting his subconscious at the weakest of times - yet never close enough to become reality.

He needs reality. He needs something to direct his anger at. Now it merely shimmers and shimmers and shimmers, strong enough to make him feel off-balance - but weak enough to convince himself that it isn’t there, he’s perfectly alright.

(And why wouldn’t he be?)

 

 

Sometimes, the monotony of life gets to him, and he can’t do anything else but just go. To Cinnabar, to Saffron, to Lavender; anywhere. He’ll battle trainers (weaklings), catch new Pokémon (old in every possible way) and help his grandfather with research if necessary. He doesn’t do it for the science, because he’s far too impatient to be a researcher himself and values Pokémon battling above scientific assumptions. It’s merely about family, and the bonding that should be held high at all times; the name that should be defended at all times.

Trekking reminds him of past days, of times when staying ahead and being the best was a matter of course instead of a necessity. He feels best when his feet are planted on firm earthy ground, when there’s grass and sky and vastness around him; no walls, but merely unlimited horizons and unbound dreams.

(Sometimes, he understands. Sometimes, he wishes he were on Mt. Silver too.)

 

 

He’d heard Red would come to town (a rumour, a buzzing of excitedly whispered words that’d never be uttered when about him). At first he contemplated staying home, but that would smell too much like cowardice. He doesn’t do that anymore.

So now, he’s sitting in Daisy’s house; waiting. It was never really his house in the first place, he’d always had the urge to leave and never come back. The irony of being brought back home for the same person he ran away from all those years ago is not quite enough to make his lips turn into a grimace; it is to let out a self-scathing scoff of irritation.

His heart is beating fast, something he hates, because, really - he looks like a thirteen-year-old lovesick gal, peering out of the window at every interval. His sister asks whether something’s wrong, he looks so pale and nervous. Is he perhaps sick?

He assures her with a quick turn of the mouth, knowing it won’t fool her like everyone else; but can’t exactly bother to care.

He takes a gulp of his jasmine tea, distracted.

It doesn’t taste as good as usual.

\- and then, through the window, he sees him. Green’s heart momentarily stops beating; his breathing is stilled to a near-halt. After a nanosecond of complete paralysis, he stands up in a flurry of abruptly-shoved away chair and tea, and walks (strides) towards the door. He doesn’t know whether he wants to punch him or yell at him or just curse his life and all that comes with it -

But then he’s in the door opening and the other boy turns his head in his direction, having heard the door burst open (or sensing his presence - he doesn’t know, with Red you never do) and they stare at each other in a moment of complete silence that stretches and stretches and stretches, until Green thinks he might fall down.

Then Red moves his arm, and the equilibrium shatters.

(The worlds starts moving again.)

The other boy doesn’t wave at Green as he half-expected - hoped - but merely brings his hand towards his cap in a familiarized gesture of acknowledgement.

For a second, his hand remains there. Then it lowers again, and Red turns around.

Green watches the boy walk away towards his former home, a thousand different emotions shocking him into paralysis. Red’s back is as straight and uncaring as it always had been; his hands, put in washed-out jeans pockets, give off the same unassailable air and his saunter still loosely mixes confidence taken for granted, and indifference naturally learnt.

Green’s fists clench hard, and his breathing goes rapid. It’s out of anger and out of indignation, because how dare Red ignore him like that? How dare he…

And it’s in that instant, that Green thinks he hates Red. He hates the fact that Red is still ahead of him, even though he‘s better (started earlier, worked harder); he hates that impassive expression of his with the ever dull-glowing eyes, as if there‘s nothing in life to love; nothing to be passionate about, nothing -

(And he then knows he doesn’t hate Red at all, and never quite will.)

 

 

Green goes over to Red’s house later that night, simply because it’s the only logical thing to do. They talk ( - Green does) and it’s mostly about the Gym and how it prospers; about how nobody reaches the Indigo Plateau because of him. At one point he even starts bragging about the girls that are fans and lover in one, because he doesn’t know what else to do and Red has always awakened the urge in him to prove himself.

(It’s merely the thing about rivalry, he tells himself; it’s merely that competitive side that comes up whenever he meets someone worthy of his skills).

But Red just looks at him impassively, as though the words don’t matter to him; as if they ricochet against a shield of indifference or self-protection, destined to remain dangling limply in-between them.

It feels as if he’s talking to himself, absorbing tones and words spoken so many times his body feels sated before it’s finished; it’s déjà vu, and yet it’s not.

The boy in front of him fiddles with his pokéballs, his only love (for some reason there’s a pang accompanying the thought) and his face, it’s as blank a mask as ever.

The frustration inside of him builds, because he isn’t supposed to be ignored - even (especially) when it is Red, who hadn’t spoken much as a child but had still roamed around in the fields with him; in the Viridian Forest; along the shoreline of Pallet…

And then, suddenly, Green can’t take it anymore; and he rises and makes a dismissive hand gesture, and then storms off without looking back.

(He doesn’t need to see the lack of emotion on Red’s face.)

Running away is a sign of weakness - usually - but the alternative was punching Red, and he’d never been one for fighting. Not the physical kind, at least. So he takes his retreat in the Gym (he doesn’t want to be in Pallet, not anymore) and pretends he doesn’t care there’s no-one around.

The next day, Red is gone.

Daisy mentions Red asked for him, but he waves it off with a snarl - he doesn’t need pity.

So life takes on its usual form, and Green pretends that he doesn’t care.

(He doesn’t care. He never has.)

 

 

  
_Mt. Silver is a blurred storm of thoughts and emotions, centred around that one_   
_person; waiting to be melted, to be deciphered, to be burned -_   
_all the while knowing frost is the only thing they‘ll meet._

 


End file.
